


this is a love story (it is not a fairytale)

by romanleaf



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of violence/character death but it's pretty vague, mentions of Roxy and Cassie but its once, the talk but its heternormativity, this is just fluff it wont hurt you i promise, um the character death is conner but its fucking conner so u know he comes back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22821676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanleaf/pseuds/romanleaf
Summary: its just conner and tim being in love through the stages of their lives. its just fluffy and soft. for cuejoy, the angel of my life, who all of my writing will forever be dedicated to bc she inspires me more than i can say. um. smooch
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	this is a love story (it is not a fairytale)

This is a love story. It is about two princes. They live in kingdoms of polarity and live as such.

This is not a fairytale. A prince will die. There is no happy ending and the villain is never slain.

The rain in Gotham was near alive. It drizzled and poured and traveled wherever it damn pleased, because it was the city of shitty weather, so the rain regarded itself as something akin to royalty. No one would argue, really. The rain was bitter and cold, but it washed away the dirt and grime until you could pretend Gotham wasn’t _just_ a cesspool of crime. It was a city of change. A city of innovation. Something like that, at least. Something hopeful. Gotham of all places needed hope. Even if they wouldn’t admit it, they stayed for the hope of a better survival. For the want to be better. The rain in Gotham washed away the mistakes of night and laid down a fresh canvas for the day. It was a second chance.

Metropolis had perfect weather. Well, maybe not _perfect_ , but it was pretty damn close. The sun was warm and gleaming like liquid gold, but never too hot and never enough to burn. When it rained it was only for an hour or so, just a shower of crystalline droplets to press dew against the plant life and to let the city’s inhabitants truly appreciate the blue of their sky. The clouds were fluffy and resembled things like rabbits or puppy dogs. It was typical almost. The city of sunlight could be nothing except perfect to reflect its livelihood. In the sun Metropolis held out its secrets and let them be kissed in warmth, in acceptance. Only good could flourish there, under a crown of golden rays.

The city of rain and the city of sun sat side by side, separated by only a few thousand miles, and they tried their best not to mix.

But– there were always the rare occasions in which they did, because even the brightest places must make mistakes, and even the darkest must create miracles. The boy of sunlight was born in darkness and fought his way to half-assed respect. He built his throne in falsities and pretty words, reaching for a hope he would not be given. The boy of night was born to a family in the light, with riches beyond compare and an opportunity for lethargy sitting at his feet. He took his throne of death and crowned himself in anonymity, and the city whispered his name beneath tar stained skies as he fought the battles they couldn’t. The prince of sunlight ran away. The prince of night ran to misfortune.

⠀  
**This is a story about day.**

The sands of Hawaii were made of silver, then gold, then bronze. They glimmered like magic, enchanting the waves until they begged to be together and wept when they were apart. The boy of sunlight could breathe there in the sparkling sands and the aching waves. He pretended he was the best in the world, and the voices surrounding him told him the same. He believed them. Somewhat.

Then he met the dark, and he was taken from his dream.

It wasn’t like fireworks. Nothing was ever like fireworks, and it was always _supposed to be_ like fireworks. Everyone claimed this burst of emotion, a passion that was like an explosion and then the gradual fade as they fell into truly knowing the concept of the person they had created. It wasn’t like that for them. At least, not for him. All the boy felt was a slow roll of curiosity that grew and caught on the branches of his thoughts like they were nothing but kindle made for burning. It was warm, like the sunlight, but it was edged with steel too (like the night’s sarcastic quips). It made him want to turn around and go back into the bliss of island induced ignorance.

He did. Only after, however, the compulsory amount of awkward moves to show off how cool he was. He needed this prince of wonder to like him. He needed to be worthy. He wasn’t. Not at first, at least.

But things change.

**This is a story about evening.** ⠀

“Tim.”

The window is open, no screen to be found, and Conner is grateful for the little things as he tumbles headfirst into the room.

“Tim,” he says again, happier.

“Tim,” he repeats, even when his arms have wrapped around him and they are safe together.

“Ti–“

“Conner,” he replies, breathless from excitement or hug induced asphyxiation, or maybe a little of both. He opens his mouth to say something further, but Conner is pressing forward, crushing their lips together and letting the sunlight in his chest rage into something like an inferno. He swears Tim can feel it too, the warmth gleaming across his fingers and up his neck and across his mouth. It's so bright.

Conner’s head hits the ceiling and they drop back onto Tim’s bed. “Sorry. I– sorry.”

Tim looks at him in the way he always does; sharply, like he knows exactly what's happening and he’s just reading your every thought. Except it’s different this time.

His eyes are blue. The color of the sky. The color of hope and life and _Tim_. Conner says it then, once more, just a breath of his new favorite word. Tim. Tim, Tim, Tim.

He’s grinning like an idiot and he knows it, but when that favoritely named favorite person leans forward to kiss him again, he can’t help the stupid smile from growing. Tim is less hectic in his kisses. He thinks they have time, and with this time he is hesitant. Conner isn’t like that. He’s impatient. He wants everything and every promise and every ounce of this happiness he can get. He drags Tim towards him with soft excitement, wanting to be closer and closer and closest.

They fall. They tumble off the bed with a muffled yell which turns into a burst of laughter, too loud for the house that Conner knows is inhabited by at least one unsupportive parent. Tim shuts up after a moment of that, knowing he’s explicitly breaking rules. He covers Conner’s mouth with his hand, and Conner responds in the way he always does; by kissing Tim’s palm.

The air pauses as they do, too respectful to break apart the moment, and then Tim is smiling almost shyly. As if this motion has become something different. Conner doesn’t like the smile. It’s too perfect. No one should be that perfect. He’s gotta get rid of it.

He grabs the neck of Tim’s t-shirt and yanks him forward again, knowing this time they can’t fall. Not physically.

Their teeth clack loudly, and Conner uses one hand to push Tim’s chin upward, his touch softer than he thought he could make it. He doesn’t think he’ll get tired of this; seeing Tim as Just Tim and not guarded by white-out lenses and three layers of armor. This Tim is made of not just jagged angles, but of soft curves that lead into each other and bend in the prettiest ways. His eyelashes brush against Conner’s cheek as he pulls backwards. His lips arch like the curve of a bow as he breathes, looking somewhat less aware than he usually does. His voice burns through the air like an arrow, wobbling at first and then finding mark as he hums out a breathy, “how?”

Conner uses his free hand to weave their fingers together, pressing their wrists pulse to pulse. It’s a moment before he answers, both of them content in other methods of communication, but when they break for the bittersweet relief of oxygen, Conner finally replies.

“Your voice,” he says, his smile pressed close to Tim’s lips.

“And your breath,” he says, his lips moving over Tim’s cheek.

“And your heart,” he says, his words warm against Tim’s neck, before he presses a soft kiss there and continues, “I think I could find you anywhere.”

Tim pulls his face back up and they smile into each other.

**This is a story about dusk.**

Tim nudges Conner back into the present, forcing him to acknowledge his untouched chem assignment, and Conner scowls down at the paper in response.

“What about Cassie?”

Conner turns to look at his… Tim. “What?”

“I thought you liked her,” Tim says, still scribbling numbers on graph paper. Conner scowls at those too, and then realizes what Tim is saying.

“Oh. No. She’s just my friend. I, uh, when I was in Hawaii most of my friends were just really touchy feely, y’know? Cassie’s like that too.”

Tim actually looks at him, tearing his eyes away from his own homework for what must be the first time. Ever. Conner takes this as an invitation to elaborate.

“Uh… my friend Roxy? Sometimes she just kissed me when I was about to go do something dangerous. Like good luck or something. That’s just how girls are. They’re touchy.”

Now Tim is looking at him like he’s said something hilarious. His eyes are all wide and pretty, lined with the darkness of his eyelashes.

“What?”

Tim grins, and says, “Conner, did you hold her hand? Or go out with her to places?”

“Yeah?” Conner squints.

“I think you were dating Roxy. Or at least Roxy was dating you.”

“But... I like boys.”

“Did you tell her you like boys?”

“No. I thought she would have assumed. Everyone likes boys. They’re pretty,” he pauses to grin wickedly, leaning to capture Tim’s lips for a moment before continuing, “ _you’re pretty_.”

Tim laughs, leaning his forehead against Conner’s. “Most people assume you like girls, Kon. Most people are straight and they’ll think you are too because society is close-minded and annoying, et cetera.”

“Gross. Ew,” Conner mumbles, his homework long past forgotten for what wouldn’t be the second time. “Gross!”

Tim nods sympathetically, his fingers back to flipping through his math book. Conner watches him, enraptured for a moment, and then his gaze snaps to the periodic table in his lap when Tim turns back to him, a question written across his face. When he looks back, Tim is still squinting.

“Did you know about... the concept of heteronormativity?”

Conner shrugs. “I mean, like, sorta? They gave me the stuff that was super, ultra, mega necessary first. Probably ‘cause they wanted me to make sure I knew it. Saving the world and stuff. Not killing people. The works. Like… okay, I knew the Superman morals, and I knew the fact based stuff. But the whole social expectations shit was lost on me. I probably would’ve gotten it eventually, if I hadn’t been opened like a bottle of cold Sprite way too early.”

Tim smiles at that, an expression somewhere between “I Really Don’t Want To Laugh At That” and “That Was Fucking Hilarious”, and Conner takes the smile as a success.

**This is a story about night.**

“Tim!”

Tim smiles at him, the expression brighter than he’s seen it in what seems like forever. He returns Conner’s hug with the same sort of desperate excitement, and they tumble back into Tim’s bed with the same laughter that plagued his bedroom all those years ago as they had done the opposite. The laughter subsides to nothing more than grinning exhales as they lay side by side. Conner twists and shoves at limbs until their legs are tangled inseparably and he has one arm beneath Tim’s neck with the respective hand combing through his hair. There is silence then, heavy with hurt and relief and something they both know not to say.

Conner lets his fingers pour over Tim’s skin, tracing each scar from end to end with the same softness he has always used to love him. His fingers are slower than they used to be. He knows they have time. Or, perhaps, even if they don’t, he knows to use what time they have with hesitation. To live in the slowness of the seconds and let their meaning cascade over the silence.

Death has taught him something at least.

Still, Conner Kent is Conner Kent. He breaks the silence with a sigh of, “I missed you.”

Tim leans into his touch, a smile still ghosting across his features as he hums in reply.

“Did you miss me?”

Tim’s eyes snap open. He looks, momentarily, like he could cry. “I tried to bring you back.”

This time it’s Conner's turn to look like he might cry. “What?”

“I tried to clone you again. It didn’t work. Not a single try worked. Cassie… Cassie stopped me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re back. You’re really back and you’re here and everything's fine now.”

“You have me. I’m all yours forever and ever and maybe after that because clearly I’m here again. A second forever.”

Conner doesn’t say what he’s thinking, which is that even if he’s his, he won’t really be his. They’re never out. They’re never open about anything. Everyone knows but no one knows and although Conner would do anything for Tim, he’s tired of having to hide the one thing he cares most about. The team knows. The world knows. Conner was never subtle in that life or this, and to him they’re the same. What’s the difference if he’s kissing Tim behind a curtain or in front of it?

Tim hums again, warm and seemingly content in Conner’s arms, and they fall into the same steady rhythm they’d had before it all. Tim was always tired. Conner was always willing to fall asleep next to him.

Minutes pass by like poured honey, washing over them in nothing more than warmth and made up time.

Finally, Tim speaks.

“I told them,” he says, just quiet enough that Conner might not have heard it if he wasn’t always listening. Conner makes a soft sound of question, his fingers still steadily tracing the lines of lightness that criss cross Tim’s shoulder.

“I told them we were together. After you died. They all knew of course, but it was nice to not feel like I was hiding something about you that you didn’t want a secret.” Tim’s voice is a whisper.

Conner breathes. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“So… does that mean we’re like…”

“Like?”

“Timberly–”

“Stop.”

“Timothy Jackson Drake.”

“No.”

“Will you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?”

“...Conner Danger Kent.”

“Strong start.”

“Obviously. Now shut up, and let's go to sleep.”

**This is a story about dawn.**

The day began with rain, gleaming down from the heavens in great bouts of cold to wash down the street in brilliant waves. The sun opened her eyes and kissed the rain and through her motion came a refraction of her love. The sky wept through the colors as they laid down over well worn cement.

Their day began with faint sunlight through blackout curtains that had never been pulled shut, and the sound of rain falling. Two princes from worlds that met only in fleeting glances woke up side by side, with limbs slotted together like they were made to fit, and hearts beating like they were meant to live. They were born to be apart and fought to be together.

Although the city of rain and the city of sun worshiped their kings with heavy tongues and light words, the princes lived together in their own sort of kingdom, where the only law was love and the only subjects were themselves. Their castle was made of pillows. Their army was talk. They ruled justly and with fairness, and let the world outside make its own decisions, because they were fine to be together and nothing more.

This is a love story. It is not a fairytale. There was no villain to be slain, and although a prince was lost, there are no rules that say death is an ending. They don’t need a happily ever after either, because they have just begun, and in their kingdom of blankets they are safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I am gods gift, but why would he bless me with such wit without a conscience equipped? i'm addicted to the way i feel when I think of u, whoaaaa theres too much green to feel blue!!! theres ur fall out boy lyric baby girl


End file.
